On A NorthBound Train
by Battlefield Angel
Summary: On the night of Don Juan Triumphant, Christine is finally pushed too far. She leaves the Opera, and both her jealous suitors, behind to become the new diva of the London Opera. What happens next is anyone's guess.
1. When It All Becomes Too Much

On A North-Bound Train.

_In my other story, "All Through The Night", Christine packs her bags to flee the Opera alone after the premier of Don Juan Triumphant. Obviously she failed in that. On a North-Bound Train is what happens when she manages to do it. This is Christine, pushed to not the breaking point, but to some inner core of steel that stands up and tells everyone "No!" That she will not play the Phantom's game, nor Raoul's._

I can't do it. But if I don't do something, one of them will surely kill the other. They sit in their respective places, each plotting his rival's downfall. I cannot bear it. If only there was something I could do. But there is something... I'd almost forgotten. The letter. It rests in my pocket- offering me a reprieve I'd never dreamed available. An official invitation to take the place of the Royal English Opera Company's retiring soprano, the famous Adelina Patti; in London!

_My dearest Mademoiselle Daaé;_

_No doubt you have heard of the imminent retirement of Madame Patti here in London. It is upon the recommendation of several well-respected authorities that we should like to extend the offer of the position that Madame Patti will soon departing to you, Miss Daaé. Your considerable talents would be more properly appreciated in London, and you would be the foremost star of our company here in Covent Garden. Any contract with the Opera Populaire would be easily enough bought out should you choose to come to London._

_Sincerely Richard Jenkins, Manager, Royal Opera._

The primary soprano in an opera company- and all on my own merits. It seemed like a gift from God. And suddenly I was angry: at both Raoul and at the Phantom- the man who can't be bothered to tell me his name. How dare they! How dare they treat me like a favored toy neither wants to share?

And the managers- just think of how green at the gills they would be to find that the nightingale has flown from her gilded cage; and they are left with that croaking toad, Carlotta! I scrounged some foolscap and wrote out a short message:

Attn: Richard Jenkins, Manager, Royal Opera.

Coming to London immediately. Please make all appropriate arrangements.

Christine Daaé

Almost as soon as I had finished that short, life-changing message, there was a tap at my door. It was Meg Giry. I smiled, perhaps I may not be an influential Vicomte, or a powerful Phantom of the Opera; but I had discovered something: being brave only takes that first step. After that, it gets easier. Writing that missive had been one of the hardest things I'd ever done, but it was done... and that made all the difference.

"Christine, are you terribly nervous? This opera is going to drive everyone mad- it is so difficult, and on top of everything, they are having gendarmes stationed almost everywhere!"  
"Nervous? No, not really... not now. Meg, could you run a few errands for me? I'm afraid someone will follow me if I do it myself; and I don't dare let anyone know about this." I handed my dearest friend the letter from London, and the reply. After the first gasp of disbelief, she quieted; and I began my list for her.  
"Here, Meg. I've written everything I need you do out on this list. I don't dare tell you out loud- the walls have ears. Just do that as quickly as possible. The telegraph office first, though. And for the love of heaven, don't lose that list or let anyone see it, not even your mother."  
"I won't! Oh Christine! How shall I do without you?" She rushed to embrace me, and we hugged desperately for a moment, sisters of the soul, saying that first goodbye.

"You'll be spectacular. Now, hurry! Everything must go according to Raoul's plan... up until the point when it doesn't." My smile was shaky, but oh, I felt as if some terrible weight had been lifted from my chest. I wasn't going to run away blindly, like the foolish child I had been for so long; I was running _to_ somewhere with a plan that was mine, my own. The pretty puppet had cut her strings and found that she could stand without them.

I would play along, right until it was time to get into my make-up and costume... and then I'd be gone! Vanished like the morning fog on the Seine. I'd be on a northbound train before anyone could realize what had really happened. Straight for Calais, then a steamer crossing of the English Channel; and then onto London. I could see the headlines of the Paris newspapers: _Soprano mysteriously vanishes a second time!_

I'd be in Britain before anyone in the Paris Opera was the wiser.

But before any of that could happen, I'd have to be ready to go at literally the very last minute. I began to pack my clothing, shoes, my mother's few pieces jewelry and the pieces that Raoul had given me; I couldn't part with them just yet. It pricked my conscience that I had nothing concrete that my _other_ suitor had given me... But there was nothing I could do about that.

And then I wrote my notes. In every story I'd ever heard or read, a runaway always wrote a note when they decamped- usually pinned to a pincushion. I wrote three. One to Madame Giry; one to Raoul; and one to _him_. They did not all contain the same information. And then I went to hide my valise in the only place that I could think that no one would stumble upon it: the chapel. Besides, my most important possession was already there. I couldn't leave without Father's picture. It was just a cheap daguerreotype- but it was the only image I had of him- there are some things too important to leave behind. There was a hidden exit in the chapel, and I would slip through it in just a few hours, hail a cab. My last destination in Paris would be the Gare du Nord.

Once I was back in my dressing room, Meg had gotten back. She handed me the receipt from the telegraph office, the bank drafts, and the small sheaf of tickets: the train ticket to Calais; the steamer ticket to Britain, and a final train ticket from Dover to London.

"You're really going through with this, Christine?"  
"I have to. They're out for blood. I told Raoul when he came up with this plot of his that I won't be party to murder... and he ignored me. He smiled, patted my head and said, "This is the only way." I have nightmares, you know... terrible nightmares of one or the other of them lying- _dying_ on the stage in a pool of blood. The other standing over him, grinning, victorious- dragging me away from whoever is calling out for me with his dying gasps. It's different, each time. I cannot bear it anymore, Meg. This way- I hurt them both... and perhaps I can save myself."

_I hope you enjoyed this; there is more in the works... I'm not certain what exactly will happen yet though. On another note; I am diligently working on the final chapter of "All Through The Night"; take heart of grace, I have not abandoned it or my other work-in-progress, "For What It's Worth". If you enjoyed this offering, check out my other Phantom fics, and please, please, please review!_

_Warmest regards,_

_K.S._


	2. Will She Or Won't She?

**Will She or Won't She?**

**Christine**:

I had just finished the three letters when there was a knock on my door. I slipped them into a drawer just as Raoul came into the dressing room.

"Are you all right, darling?"  
"I'm fine, Raoul. You know how I get before a performance."  
"Come with me, let's have some luncheon at a cafe... then I'll buy you a new dress for the party we'll have after we catch this lunatic."

"Luncheon sounds fine, but I don't want to go shopping, Raoul. I need to prepare myself for this performance. You know how actors are- we all have our little rituals before we feel ready." I put on a pelisse, and we went and had a tense meal not far from the Opera. I didn't want to leave its shadow until I was ready to do so for good. I whiled away the afternoon working on scales, snippets of my dialogue and arias. Then, at five o'clock, just before I was set to get into my make-up and costume, I found an excuse to slip away to the chapel to pray... I wrapped myself up in a dark cloak, left the letter to the Phantom in the chapel, and made my way through the exit hidden by the angel window. Trusty Meg would give both Raoul and her mother their notes- after my train departed for Calais.

It took all my years of training not to break out into a run, but to walk around to the front of the Opera, hail a hansom cab and direct the driver to the Gare du Nord. My train would leave the station at six-thirty; leaving me an hour to wait and wonder whether I would be discovered by one or all of my keepers.

**Meanwhile back at the Opera: **

The backstage area resounded with the cries of "Where is she?" Almost the entire company, from the managers to the stagehands to the smallest petite rat was looking for the vanished Christine Daaé. Meg Giry, the only person who knew where Christine had gone, played along and joined in the search. Her mother remained in Christine's dressing room, trying to calm the frantic Vicomte de Chagny.

"He's taken her, I tell you! She begged me not to go through with this mad scheme, and she was right. I should have whisked her out of Paris, where he could not follow." The young man moaned, distraught.

"Why should he take her now? Before the premier of his opera which would have made her a star? It makes no sense." Madame Giry did not know what had happened to Christine, but she was sure the Phantom had not absconded with the girl.

And she was quite right. Once he had discovered Christine's absence, he made his way to the chapel of the Opera, certain that if she was not there; a clue to her whereabouts would be. And so, he found the violin and the letter, waiting for him.

_My Angel of Music;_

_By the time you read this, I will be gone from Paris. I am sorry, so sorry, that I could not be what you wanted. I am a miserable coward, but then you knew that. I cannot bear the thought of you being hurt, or of you hurting anyone else. I will be eternally grateful to you for your tutelage and your belief in me. You will find an instrument case with this letter. Inside is my father's violin. It was the only thing I could think to leave to you that would fully express how much I care, and hopefully you will remember me with fondness when you play it._

_Your Christine._

The letter told him nothing- except that there was still some lingering fondness she held for him. She was gone! Flown, with no indication of where or how she was going. But she was gone for good; the violin he held was proof of that. She would not have left it lightly. And his heart twisted in his chest- it was all his fault. And so he didn't hear the light footstep behind him, and only whirled around when a soft voice spoke.

"Her train leaves the _Gare_ _du_ _Nord_ at six-thirty, for Calais; there, she takes the steamer _Eurydice_ for England. You'd best hurry if you want to catch the train."

He looked up to see Meg Giry standing in the doorway, her red-gold hair a nimbus about her face.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, shocked at the expression on her face. It was a sort of fond sadness.

"Leaving, by herself, that was her way of being brave; she didn't choose you, and she didn't choose the Vicomte. She chose herself."  
"But?" The man before her asked, wondering what this pixie was holding back.

Little Meg smiled, impishly this time, "I'm utterly incorrigible- and I love happy endings. Now go! The train for Calais leaves on Platform seven!" In a moment of sheer bravery, Meg Giry grasped the Phantom's hands, and pulled him to his feet. "And don't forget the violin!" She sounded very much like her mother as she set the instrument case in his hands.  
At the doorway to the chapel, the Phantom paused, "Mademoiselle, how can I ever thank you?"

"Be happy, Monsieur. She wouldn't have left like this if she didn't love you." Meg replied. The Phantom strode to her, and took her hand.

"You have a kind heart, Mademoiselle." He said as he bowed over her hand, and then was gone.

Meg Giry wobbled her way to the ledge that had served as a seat since she was a child. She was shaking… The Phantom of the Opera had smiled at her and bowed over her hand! She felt completely inappropriate giggles beginning. Oh, this was a night for strange and wonderful happenings!

_Please, please review! I've been such a good girl, after all- I finished "All Through the Night" for you! The least you could do is leave a little encouragement here!  
In fond hopes of a plethora of reviews and favorites,_

_K.S._


	3. The Flight to Calais

_Thanks so much to Carillon and Nataliia for the reviews and encouragement!  
This is a quiet scene, played out on a train moving steadily through the night to rendezvous at the little port of Calais in the north of France, the closest point to Britain on the Continent._

_Warmest regards, K.S._

_**The Flight to Calais.**_

I had just boarded the train; and had taken my seat. My hands were reflexively clutching the handle of my valise. The train car was nearly deserted. Besides myself, there was only an elderly couple sitting at the other end of the car. Then the door opened just as the train began to move.

It was his scent that identified him before his shadow fell over me. I closed my eyes. I had been both hoping for and dreading this outcome. His cloak brushed across my dress as he took the seat across from me, and I shuddered at the contact.

"How did you find me?" I asked quietly. I was pleased that my voice did not tremble.

His hat was tilted low over his head but I could feel his eyes on me, "Meg Giry told me." His answer was equally subdued.

I twisted my hands in my skirt as I burst out, "I'm not going back! I earned this place in London."

"Yes, you did. I'm not here to drag you back."  
"You're not angry? I ruined the performance!" He laughed at my tragic exclamation.

"Perhaps it is better this way. I'll publish Don Juan and have it performed elsewhere… It was very clever, to have Meg do your errands and collect your tickets."

"Not clever, just careful. I didn't want anyone to find me. That didn't work very well, did it?" I laughed, bitterly.

"I wouldn't have found you if Meg hadn't told me. Let me travel with you to London; you shouldn't travel alone… I can act as your agent in negotiations, so that you get the best contract possible. Then, if you wish, I will leave you." He sounded so reasonable… but his beautiful voice trembled at the end.

Impulsively, I leaned forward and took his gloved hands in mine. His hands were shaking. "You may come with me to London. After that… I don't know yet."

The train made its way through the north of France; stopping every so often at larger towns along its route. For the most part, our car was deserted as we traveled through the night to Calais. I would doze fitfully, too nervous to get any real sleep. There would be a day in Calais in between arrival and my departure on the _Eurydice_. I assumed that my Angel... the Phantom, would book passage on that ship in the seaside town.

He slept more easily than I did on the train. Seeing him in repose, without those changeable eyes of his watching my every move; let me examine him more closely without embarrassment or flustered apologies. He had pulled his hat low over his face, and had angled his head so that the mask was hidden from view. What was presented to me, then, was a pure and perfect profile of the man before me. From that, one could see a powerfully built man in the prime of his life- not a youth, but not yet middle-aged - dressed as any gentleman might be. I found myself observing his face: the left-hand side that was blessedly normal. He had a long, clean line of throat and a stubborn, angular jaw; high cheekbones, a hawkish nose, and a beautifully shaped ear which was pointed at the tip. Most of his lips were normal, before they became slightly misshapen as if they were pulled beneath the mask. With his eyes closed, I could see his lashes- I knew several chorus girls at the Opera who would have sold their souls for such long, black lashes! He looked younger in sleep, lines caused by pain and worry smoothed away. And once, his lips curled up in a shy smile as he whispered my name in his sleep.

He looked like a Faerie prince under an enchantment- Oberon caught and held by a cruel spell.

And then those gray…green… no blue- eyes opened, and fixed on me at once. "How long was I asleep?" He asked me.  
"About two hours." I answered him just as quietly.

"You should not have let me sleep so long." His voice was warm, still a little sleepy.  
"You seemed to need it. You have dark circles under your eyes." Our tones were both hushed, not entirely certain how this conversation would go.  
He laughed a little at that, darkly, sarcastically, "No doubt I do."

"Don't do that. " I was suddenly irritated by his manner.

"Do what, Christine?" There was something in his voice that I did not like; as if some devil were egging him on.

"You know very well. If you can't be civil to me, I'll find another seat." I stood to emphasize my point. He stood as well, and grasped my wrist. It was the first time since that night he took me under the Opera that he had invited such contact, never mind that both our hands were gloved.

"I am sorry if I have offended you. Please, sit back down." He was conciliatory. Glancing at our entwined hands under my lashes, I allowed him to pull me back into my seat.

"All right. We've a day's time lee-way in between arrival in Calais and when the _Eurydice_ departs for London. You'll book passage then, I should think. I still need to find a hotel for the night; but I was in a bit of a rush this afternoon." I said, desperate for something remotely resembling normal conversation.

"_You_ were in a rush?" He said, incredulously, "My dearest girl, I stepped on the train with about thirty seconds to spare."

"But you did step on the train…You faced all those people in the station. That was very brave of you." My smile was shy, but I did feel immensely proud of him.  
"Desperate." He corrected.

I bit the inside of my lip, "Sometimes there isn't much difference between bravery and desperation…"

"Christine…"

"The way you say my name sends shivers down my spine. Delicious, terrifying shivers…" The lack of sleep and the close quarters were making me feel rather drunk and a bit dizzy. I wasn't entirely in control of what I was saying. And then the thought occurred to me, and found its way out of my mouth before I could reconsider it, "What is _your_ name? You never told me." God! It sounded so accusing, so petulant! And the question clearly startled him.

"Erik. My name is Erik."  
"Erik… that's a Scandinavian name. It means… either 'honorable ruler' or 'great king'… I can't remember. It's a long time since I've spoken any Swedish. Are you Swedish, or Norse?"  
"I came upon the name quite by accident, I assure you. I don't know what name I was given at birth- or if I was given one at all."  
"How could… "  
"No, you're right. Let's not talk of unpleasant things. So, you'll be replacing Madame Patti, then? She's a fine coloratura- I heard her sing Gilda once… but she has trouble with the _verismo_ parts like Carmen."  
"I don't like _Carmen_."  
"No, of course you wouldn't- she is too much like Carlotta… but she is fire and passion, Christine."  
"But she does not burn with the fire from Heaven." I threw his words back at him easily, as if it were a game. Erik's lips twitched, as if he could not decide whether or not to smile. He leaned forward, and traced the length of my nose with one gloved finger.

"No, she is not… there are better angels for you to play, I suspect." Those eyes; those changeable eyes were on my face, as if memorizing it; and then the train jolted to a stop. We had arrived in Calais, much sooner than I thought we would. It hadn't even taken four hours to travel, and that was including the stops in Beauvais, Amiens and Abbeville. I hadn't been hungry, until now... and it was ten at night; there would be no dinner for me I expected.

I should have known better. My tutor was nothing if not resourceful. He had us in a carriage and to a decent hotel before I had time to contemplate the situation.

"Two rooms, one for myself and one for the lady."

"Two rooms, monsieur?" The clerk had the temerity to ask.

"That is what I said, was it not? And we are both famished; the train from Paris was delayed and we have had no supper. I will pay handsomely for it all, I assure you." Erik, tall and dark and menacing, had the clerk assuring him that all would be as he asked. I was shown to my room, fed, and I tumbled into sleep quite easily. And however strange it might seem; I felt comforted that I was not alone on my mad dash- and that neither was my Angel… neither was Erik.

_Please review if you liked it! All writers are review whores, really; and getting reviews makes my day!  
K.S._


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